Measures
by missaphelion
Summary: Mike wants to save Jesse, he just can't figure out if he's in more danger from Walter or himself.
1. Chapter 1

Based on this prompt: Mike saves Jesse's ass and Jesse promptly tries to repay him via sexual favors. When mike rebuffs him Jesse freaks out because as far as Jesse has been taught that is how the world works; every favor has to be repaid and his ass is always the best curacy.  
Brownie points if Walt figured out Jesse had these issues and simply exploited it instead of trying to help him.

WARNINGS: There are recurring themes of dubious consent (not Mike/Jesse), drug use, emotional distress etc. Jesse and Mike have more of a father son relationship in this story, except for one misunderstanding near the beginning, so not really a pairing fic for them.

* * *

Jesse Pinkman is not the sort of man that Mike usually deals with. Oh, he's dealt with junkies by the dozens, but this kid isn't anything like the rest of them. He still remembers the first day he saw him—the day that Jane Margolis died.

He's done that tired old routine more times than he can count, and nine times out of ten the junkie bastard'll beg for one last hit before they'll let him walk out the door with the last of their drugs. He put all of Pinkman's hundreds of thousands of dollars in a bag with all his drugs and then walked right out the front door—and damned if the kid didn't even look at it once.

He hadn't cared about anything but that dead girl lying in his bed. It was almost refreshing.

Almost, but not quite. Junkies were, after all, still human. They had an emotion on occasion. Mike really didn't think much more on it after that. He found him in that stinking crack den when Walt asked and even drove them all the way to rehab, but he didn't see it changing much.

But he'd been wrong about that, too.

The kid cleaned up good, that was for sure, though in some ways he seemed even worse off than before. Still, there was something about him. Had to be, for Walt to be so weirdly possessive, for him to have survived this long at all.

So he keeps an eye on him when Gus asks, and the kid still doesn't do any of the things he should. He lets the homeless stay in his home, he buys meth from his own dealers and hands teenths out like party favors. He tosses money to them just to watch them dance.

It's a little like watching someone implode.

He doesn't want to report back to Gus that the kid's become a liability, but he hasn't got much choice. It's obvious Pinkman doesn't give a damn about his own life, so there'd be nothing he could do to save it. Gus surprises him though, by tasking him with the opposite of his usual task: keep the kid alive.

He hardly makes it through the first day. Pinkman doesn't sit still for more than five seconds at a time, and Mike considers having him ride in the trunk, but he sticks it out. Then there's the next day. And the day after that. And the night after that.

And then he starts to see it.

Gus is catering to the kid when he says "I see things in people" but Mike's dead certain he's gotten it right again, even if this time it's on accident. There's something about Jesse Pinkman. Some kind of spark. Because Mike doesn't ever get attached. He doesn't ever get careless.

Or at least, he doesn't until he does.

It's just a run of the mill money pick up when it happens. The kid's wandered a little further than he likes, half-heartedly toying with a cigarette, and Mike lets him without reigning him back in. That's his first mistake, giving him space when he should have kept him close. He wouldn't have made that mistake with anyone else.

He just looks away for a second while he drags the money bag out of the drainpipe, and when he looks back Jesse is gone.

There was never a sound, but Mike can see the still lit cigarette simmering where it's fallen in the dirt, and there are drag marks leading behind the edge of the warehouse. It's a rookie move but he's running before he fully takes stock of the situation, rounding the corner without stopping, barreling into the fray full-force.

There are two of them. One has an arm wrapped under Jesse's armpit, the other clamped around his mouth. The second guy is trying to hold onto his feet. Jesse's a fighter, though. Always willing to give in until it's almost over, and then he'll fight like mad.

Mike shoots them both through the head. They're amateurs, or he might have been in trouble for being so sloppy. As it is he's able to blow through the skull of the one holding Jesse's feet and then shoot the other between the eyes before either of them fully understand they're no longer alone.

Jesse's eyes are wide as the three of them go crashing to the ground. Mike leans forward to help but he's already scrambling away, pushing himself away from the bodies with large gasping breaths. His face is half covered in blood, though miraculously he seems to have avoided the rest of it. He wipes at it frantically with the sleeve of his shirt, muttering to himself the whole time.

He flinches when Mike kneels beside him, but doesn't say anything. Mike glances around but the two men seem to be alone. They've got a van, a low-key sort of thing, hardly state of the art. They're bit players, not cartel. Probably didn't even have any clue who it was they'd nearly grabbed.

He keeps his gun at the ready as he looks through the back of the van. There's rope, and drugs, and bubble-gum wrappers. They'd probably been staking the place out, figured out it was some sort of drop point, and that they'd grab someone up to get information.

Inconsequential, his mind supplies. No need to even clean up the bodies, because no one will care when they end up dead. He looks back at Jesse, who is still staring at the bodies, like this sort of violence is still new.

"You ready to get out of here, kid?" Mike asks.

Jesse swallows and nods sharply, and that's all the acknowledgement Mike needs. He drags Jesse up and gets them the hell out of there. He drives them straight to the kid's house, because it's closer than the lab and he doesn't think he needs to rush to get rid of his gun.

The kid seems even more on edge at his front door than he had on the drive, though, so Mike wonders if he took him to the wrong place. He frowns as Jesse slips inside and follows, locking the door behind him. He really needs to set this place up with deadbolts, and maybe a few cameras. A few bugs, just in case. God knows the kid didn't take care of himself.

"So, ah, thanks," Jesse says, but there's something weird about the way he says it.

Mike turns to watch him, his eyes narrowing with a sick, stubborn suspicion, but Jesse's eyes just skitter away.

"Can I get you something?" Jesse asks, after a moment of avoiding his gaze. "Beer maybe? Some Coke? You know, the cola kind, I mean."

"What's wrong with you?" Mike demands, because he can tell that there is something going on here. Jesse is speaking in some sort of code and it's setting him on edge.

"Okay, so no pleasantries, I get it," Jesse says, and steps up close to him. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it." Jesse glances up at him, through his eyelashes, and Mike starts to get a sinking feeling about where this is going. "I owe you, right? So take what you want." The kid's voice has taken on a strange, shaky sort of certainty. Like he's done this a million times before, and been taken up on the offer every single time.

Jesse lifts his hands to Mike's neck, pushing forward for a clumsy, awkward kiss. Mike grabs his wrists to pull them down and trap them between them, but he doesn't step away. "Stop," he demands. "Stop this right now."

Jesse's eyes are glazed like he's on a high, but Mike knows he's been clean all week. He's been keeping too close an eye on him for him to slip anything past him.

"You want it," Jesse insists. "You want isomething/i. You think I haven't figured that out? Because I'm not that naïve.

"Not naïve maybe, but you're sure as hell stupid," Mike snarls, his surprise turning to anger as he realizes what this is. He's more angry at himself than Jesse, because he should have see this coming long before they'd gotten here. "What is this all about?"

He sees the confusion flash through Jesse's eyes, and sucks in a deep breath. Confusion is better than that iemptiness./i

"Mr. White said—" Jesse starts, before breaking off and glancing away.

It clicks together and Mike sees red. He can hear a roaring through his ears as he fills in all the missing pieces of Jesse's strange behavior, of his weird blend of defiant submissiveness.

Mr. White.

That's always bothered him, that little nickname—mostly because it isn't a nickname. That's just how Jesse thinks of Walter. He's _Mr. White_. Somehow that's more fucked up than any of the rest of this.

"Walter said what, kid?" Mike demands. He gives Jesse a hard shake. "Walt. Said. What?"

Jesse laughs, but it's an empty sort of sound. Mike has heard men laugh like that as he watched them lay dying. "That I'm only good for two things. I can either make meth or go back to selling my ass to buy it. And you've already got me making meth for that boss of yours, so I took a guess it was my other little talent you were after."

Jesse tries to tug free, but Mike keeps a tight grip on him.

"Hey, it was my mistake, man," Jesse says, but he looks scared now. He looks almost terrified.

Mike bets he's wondering what kind of things he's going to take from him if not sex, and he feels a little sick. He can kill men without remorse, and he can cut a body to pieces and feed it to a barrel of acid. He can do all those things, but he doesn't play the sort of games that Walter does. Mike is, at heart, an honest man.

He'll shoot you, sure, but he'll let you see it coming.

Walter will fuck with you until you turn the damn gun on yourself.

"You shouldn't listen to everything Walter says," Mike snaps, and finally lets Jesse go. Jesse stumbles back from him, looking lost.

"Right, yeah, sure," Jesse says. "Look, thanks and all, but if you don't—well, maybe you should leave."

He figures if he walks out that door, Jesse will be sticking a needle in his arm about five minutes later. He has the place searched once a week, and the drugs all destroyed, but Jesse is damn good at hiding them. He doesn't think he's ever found them all.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says.

"Then make up your damn mind," Jesse says. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything," Mike says. "Except maybe not to see you get yourself killed.

"Why should you care about me?" he demands. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"What did Walter do to you, exactly, to make you so loyal?" Mike asks casually.

"What?" Jesse asks, looking thrown. "What are you—Mr. White protects me, okay? Mr. White keeps me safe!"

"Is he fucking you?" Mike asks. "Is that what this is about? Christ. When did it start? When you teamed up or before that, back when you were his student?"

Mike feels some relief as he watches the horror that slips through Jesse's expression. You can't lie about that kind of shock. "What? What the fuck—no, man, he wasn't!" Jesse snaps. "He isn't now, either. What the hell kind of question is that?"

"It think it's a rather obvious one, considering the circumstance," Mike says dryly.

"Mr. White doesn't want sex from me, it's not like that, okay?" Jesse says, turning away to scrub his hands through his shaved hair. "Jesus."

Mike nods, because that makes sense too. "So is that it then? That's why you're loyal to him? He's the first one that didn't want anything in return?"

"Oh, he wants plenty," Jesse snarls. "But it's not anything you'd understand."

"Try me," Mike says.

"I don't have to do this with you," Jesse says. "I may owe you, but I don't owe you this."

"What is 'this,' Jesse?" Mike asks calmly, as he shadows the younger man's steps. "Cause I have to admit to being at a loss. Your friendship with Walter has always confused me, but then it's not really friendship at all, is it?"

"We're more like, I don't know, distant relatives that don't exactly like each other," Jesse says. "But it's still family, right, so you do what you have to."

"No. You're not family. He's practically obsessed with you," Mike says. "All the man talks about his own damn family, but he's willing to throw it all away any time he even thinks you're in trouble. Don't you ever wonder why that is?"

"That's not about me, not really. Maybe I'd be more grateful, if I thought it was," Jesse says. "But it's just his pride, because he thinks I belong to him. He thinks that if he can't protect me he can't protect any of us.

"You don't believe that," Mike says.

"Okay, then it's guilt, I don't know!" Jesse shouts. "What the hell does it even matter? What do you care?"

"I want to know what hold he has over you," Mike shouts back, because he has a sudden urge to break it. He's never wanted to save any of his charges before. He's never spent the time trying to talk any of them back from the ledge.

But Walter is going to get himself killed before that cancer can do it for him, and Mike can't stand the thought of the bastard taking Jesse with him.

"I remember when I first met him," Mike says, trying to bring himself back under control. Jesse stops stepping away and watches him warily. "I thought now here's a guy that's in over his head. Here's a guy that can't see what needs to be done. I thought he was going under quick and you were just dragging him down all the faster, but that's not it at all, is it? He's the one that's been holding on to you."

"We're partners," Jesse says lamely.

"That's what he lets you call it, but it's not what this is," Mike says. "You know that, kid. You're a smart boy."

"Fine. We're whatever the hell we are, man, but the split is still fifty fifty, so that's good enough for me," he snaps.

"Because you want the money so badly," Mike says. "You keep it in a duffle bag in the bottom drawer of your dresser and you never lock your door."

"And what, you think I should head down to the local credit union and open an account?" Jesse asks incredulously. "Cause that wouldn't get me noticed."

"Or you could try a safe," Mike says calmly, and backs Jesse up against the wall. "If you cared enough. But you don't care about anything anymore, do you?"

"It's my money, I can do what I want," Jesse says. "Okay? Are you satisfied? I don't know what you're after here, but I'm fine. I'm totally, absolutely fine, okay?"

"You're lying. Because that look you've got in your eyes, I've seen it before," Mike says. "Not on junkies. Oh no, they've got a look all their own and you mimic it pretty damn good but it's not what you are." He reaches out and grabs Jesse's mouth, pressing the sides together to get a glimpse of his teeth before letting Jesse pull angrily away. "Most meth heads don't remember to brush their teeth."

"Is there a point to this story?" Jesse demanded.

"You've got the look of a solider back from war," Mike says. "Like someone that's seen so much bad shit they can't process it the right way anymore."

"I ain't no solider," Jesse snaps.

"You take orders, don't you?" Mike asks. "Cause I'm betting shooting Gale straight through the face wasn't your idea, but maybe I'm wrong about that."

"That's not on me," Jesse protests. "That's not on Mr. White either. We did what we had to. There wasn't another way, and you know that better than anyone."

"No, you're right," Mike says calmly. "If you'd let him live, you and Walt would be dead, no question."

Jesse nods, but a shudder gives away his uncertainty. "Right. That's how I could do it. Because he begged me not to, you know." He stops for a moment and looks to the floor. "He just seemed so normal. I thought at first like, this can't be the guy, right? This can't be the right guy."

"Kid—"

"But if it had just been me, just for my life, I woulda let him live, cause I know I wasn't worth him," Jesse says after a moment. He glances back over at Mike. "But I owed it to Mr. White to save him, after all he's done for me."

"All this stuff he's 'done for you,'" Mike says quietly. "Did you ever ask for any of it?"

"Wouldn't it be nice, if we only ever got what we asked for?" Jesse asks, glancing over at him.

Not sexual favors then, Mike thinks. Walter was far more diabolical than that. He'd gotten Jesse so twisted around that he'd killed for him. That was a strange sort of talent, turning someone like Jesse into a killer. Because Mike knew killers, and a few months back he would have bet good money Jesse'd never pull that trigger.

"He's not even sorry," Jesse says, and laughs incredulously. "It's like Gale wasn't ever his friend. It's like it wasn't us that did it. Sometimes Mr. White scares the hell out of me. Sometimes I think it's all the rest of us that are in way over our heads."

"But you'd still do anything for him, wouldn't you?" Mike asks.

"I have to," Jesse says, and he sounds steady for the first time all night. "Because he'd do anything for me."

Mike thinks that's probably true. He's seen Walter's wrath when he's worried for Jesse's life, and it's no ordinary rage. He might have been manipulating the kid for his own ends, but that didn't mean he didn't care. He didn't think that made it better, however—he had the worst feeling there was nothing more dangerous than to be loved by Walter White.

He wants so much to set Jesse free from this. There have been so many he couldn't save, so many lives he's taken or let slip through his fingers. And he knows that Jesse would be one too many—there'd be no coming back from losing him.

No half measures, he'd once told White. Maybe it was time to take his own advice.


	2. Chapter 2

"No."

Mike had been expecting that answer, but he still can't hide the flash of irritation in his eyes. It's not like him to take things personally, and he can practically see Gus filing his reaction away for future reference.

He takes a deep breath, and tries to go over it again. "I'm telling you, we don't need him," he says. "The kid can cook every bit as well as he can."

"But will he?" Gus asks thoughtfully, "without him?"

Mike knows where Gus is going with this. "So we make it look like an accident. An act of God. The kid'll get shaken but he'll move on. He's had enough practice."

"A few months ago I might have agreed," Gus says. "But Jesse is much smarter than I had given him credit for. He won't believe it. It's far too convenient."

"He'll believe it if we make it look like the cancer was back," Mike says. "That's a matter of inevitability. Heavy metal poisoning will mimic some of the symptoms, and it's very hard to trace. Doubtful they'll even try considering Walter's medical history. They'll be looking for something else."

"Something that isn't there," Gus interrupts. "No. You can not make the cancer come back, and that is the only thing young Jesse might believe."

"Not the only thing," Mike says, leaning forward. "If Walter were convinced the cancer was coming back, he might take the easy way out."

"Fake a suicide?" Gus laughs. "Oh, Walt might consider it, but he is not the type. He would much sooner shoot someone else than himself. I think Jesse knows that, too." Gus pauses for a moment, watching Mike intently. "You truly care for him, don't you?"

"He's a good kid," Mike says gruffly. "Probably would have been a lot better off had he never met any of us."

"He would probably be dead," Gus says simply. "Attachments of this kind can be extremely dangerous in our line of work. It is a liability. You know this."

"Or it can be a benefit," Mike says. "If we get Jesse on our side, we can eliminate Walt. And you can bet that Walter's got the same idea."

"You believe Jesse is the swing vote," Gus says, eyes darkening with thought. "Whoever has his loyalty wins?"

"Walter's on Walter's side and we're on ours, but Jesse doesn't know what the hell he wants," Mike says. "He's not after the money, so you can't bribe him. He doesn't want anyone hurt, so you can't win him over with a show of force. What he needs is stability, and we can give him that. Walter can't."

"Yet it is Walter he has sided with, time and time again," Gus says dryly. "And Walter with him." Gus steeples his fingers and then looks back at Mike. "At first I could not understand why Walter would work him, and now I can't understand why he would work with Walter. But that is the nature of partnerships, Mike. They are sometimes sacred things."

It's galling, but Mike knows it's true. He still remembers when Walter forced Gale out for Jesse's sake. The morning after Mike had been in the lab with Walter and Gus, waiting for the kid to arrive. Gus, in his impatience, had asked why Walter had insisted on the change.

He remembers Walter got this fond smile on his face—a genuine expression that seemed so strange considering how much he disparaged the kid when he was around.

"Jesse," he'd said easily, "is irreplaceable." He'd had the sort of light in his eyes as he said it that he got when talking about science. "I'm a scientist, so I know what to do because I know what reactions the actions will cause. But Jesse…he's more of an…artist. The cook is just brush strokes. He's got the technique down, and the rest is intuition. I'm making meth, but he's making art."

It had been of the few times Walt had seemed sincere, but Gus wasn't easy to convince.

"I doubt the young man would describe it in that manner," he had countered.

"No, he probably wouldn't," Walt had laughed. "But he probably couldn't explain to you how he does it, either. He could show you the steps, but that's not the most important part." Walter had leaned back in his chair then, legs crossed, suit pulled up just to his waist. "It's nothing against Gale, he's very bright. He could have learned my process, and I have no doubts he could have replicated it very closely, but he would never have been as good as Jesse. You know how I know? Jesse never needed to take notes. iJesse/i can do it with his eyes closed."

The thing that he missed then but stood out now was the pride in Walter's voice. Not the pride of a teacher, not even the pride of a mentor—no, it was the pride of a father. Like he was responsible for everything that Jesse was.

It all started to make a bit more sense the first time he watched them cook together, because they didn't even need to speak. It was like some kind of mental link, like they became one cook when they were in a lab together.

"You know I'm right," Gus says gently, bringing Mike's attention back to him. "Jesse will not betray him, not easily."

Mike doesn't miss the change in tone at Gus's last two words. It clicks together then—the ride-alongs, the set up to make Jesse a hero. "You're playing the long game," he says, his admiration of Gus once again renewed. "You're driving them apart."

"It only takes a single action to make an enemy," Gus says cryptically. "Friends make for a much lengthier investment."

"It's dangerous, giving Walter time to plan," Mike warns. "Look what he's already managed to do with what little time he has left."

"Perhaps," Gus acknowledges. "But if we take Walter out of play before Jesse is ready to let him go, we'll lose them both."

"And in the meantime?" Mike asks.

"Continue as you have been," Gus says. "Keep him safe. Keep him occupied. And most importantly, keep him away from Walter as much as possible."

Mike nods, because he'll do as he's told, just like always.

And just like always, he has a feeling it's going to be easier said than done.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike leans in the doorway of Jesse's bedroom and crosses his arms. Jesse's eyes are huge as they stare back him, and he gives a strange little stutter of breath when he realizes he's being watched. Christ, Mike thinks. He looks like Kaylee the time he'd caught her playing with matches.

"Where is it, Jesse?" he asks flatly.

He's been keeping a close eye on the kid the last couple of weeks. He'd had bugs installed, which he wasn't proud of. He couldn't even pretend it was a security concern, because he knows Jesse enough now to know he's not planning to sell them out.

He'd planted the bugs to make sure Jesse wasn't going to get himself hurt—and sure enough, one of his buddies had been by earlier that day to drop off some heroin.

"Where is what?" Jesse asks, and his pupils are totally blown. He's on something, but not the heroin, Mike assures himself. He wouldn't still be standing.

"I'm not doing this with you," Mike says. "Whatever you're holding, you're going to give it to me."

"I'm not on the job, Mike," Jesse says, but the bravado is obviously forced. "What I do on my time doesn't have anything to do with your boss."

Mike gives a quicksilver grin, before nodding and stepping into the room. "Fair enough," he says. "But then, I'm not here because of Gus."

"Right, okay," Jesse says. "Good. So you should leave."

"No, you misunderstand," Mike says darkly, stepping forward. Jesse scrambles away, walking backwards until he hits the wall. "I'm here because I'm personally concerned, and that should worry you, Jesse, it really should. Because I have boundaries when I'm working in a professional capacity, but there are no limits to what I'd do when I am ipersonally concerned/i. Where is it?"

"I'm not going to use it," Jesse says, blinking at him with those wide blue eyes. Mike's never known a junkie to look this damn innocent. "That's not why I got it."

"That's good to know," Mike says. "So you won't mind if I take it with me."

"How do you even—" Jesse starts, before ducking under him and moving back towards the center of the room. "Did you bug my house?"

"Yes," Mike says simply.

"If Gus has a problem with me, with my work—" Jesse starts.

"I told you, I'm not here for him," Mike interrupts. "He doesn't know you're on the verge of using again, because I didn't tell him." Mike glares at him. "And that's not like me, Jesse, not to report back about something like this."

"I never asked you to cover for me," Jesse says.

"No, you didn't, because you seem to want to get caught." Mike pauses for a moment. "If you don't tell me where you're holding it, I'm dragging your ass back to rehab."

"Shit," Jesse snaps, running a hand over his eyes before looking over at him suspiciously. "You can't do that. It's got to be, like, voluntary."

"Jesse," he says, and just stares back at him calmly. "If I want you to sign the papers, then I promise I'll get you to sign them."

"Mr. White wouldn't like it," Jesse says with certainty, looking smug. "He'd stop you."

Such ingrained belief, Mike thinks with a sneer. It has to be some form of abuse, the relationship those two have. Jesse seems to think he can't do a thing without Walter, and Walter doesn't want Jesse doing anything with anyone else.

It's been like pulling teeth trying to keep the two of them apart, and it just doesn't make any damn sense. It's not like they do anything but bicker when they're together.

"He'll help me get you there, if I tell him you're using again," Mike says, and he's pretty sure it's true. Jesse must know it too, because he's looking more and more nervous.

"I'm not using again," he protests. "A joint doesn't count, man, even Mr. White knows that."

"You're on the edge," Mike says. "I'm not going to let you do that to yourself again. We've already gone through this all, Jesse. I already explained to you that I'm not going to let it happen."

Mike tracks Jesse's jittery movements carefully. Jesse's so gullible about some things, but Mike knows he's almost impossible to talk him out of an idea once he's got it in his head. Only Walt's ever had any success in reining him in.

He hates to use the hold Walt has over the kid, but he's been at this too long not to use every advantage he has.

"Well, should we call Walter then?" Mike asks. "See what his take is on all this?"

Jesse glares at him, before stomping over to his bedside table. There's a thick black candle placed on the wood, and when he lifts it up Mike realizes it's been hollowed out and left with a false bottom. Jesse drops the small bag of heroin into the palm of his hand, and then tosses it to Mike"

"There," he snaps. "Are we good? Are we done?"

"You can cut it out with the attitude, kid," Mike says, glancing up. "I'm trying to help."

Jesse watches him for a moment, a spark entering his eyes as all of his anger just drops away—like a switch has been flipped. "If Gus asked you to kill me, would you?" he asks, his tone is reminiscent of the last time they'd stood in this house having a conversation, seductive and provoking all at once. "Would you even question him on it? Or would you just pack up your favorite pistol, knock on my front door, and shoot me dead on the living room floor?"

Mike doesn't miss the parallels to Gale's death, but he doesn't call Jesse on it. "Are you asking if I would risk everything for you?" he asks.

"You don't get it, do you?" Jesse asks. "You really don't. No, I'm not iasking/i, because I already know! We're not friends, Mike. We're not anything. I'm not your special project. I'm not your fucking good deed for the month. I am nothing, okay? I am expendable. You know it, and I know it. So what the hell difference does it make if I manage to get myself killed before you get around to doing the job yourself?"

"That sounds more like Walter than it does you," Mike says gruffly.

"Yeah, well, he ain't a genius for nothin'," Jesse says, and throws his arms out wide. "So do it, Mike. Let's not stall the inevitable. Go ahead. I won't even beg, if that makes a difference. I know how hard it is to pull the trigger when they beg."

"What the hell are you on?" Mike demands, reaching forward to grab the kid and shake him.

"Don't touch me," Jesse snarls, twisting out of his grip almost effortlessly. The kid wasn't much use in a fight, but he was slippery as hell.

"Do you really believe I would be wasting my time here if I was just going to turn around and kill you?" Mike asks quietly. "Does that make sense to you?"

"I know your type," Jesse says shakily. "You've got a code, right? But it's not a code like a regular person has, it's a little messed up, right, cause you take a job and you see it through. To hell with the consequences, or the collateral damage."

"You talking about Walt, or are you talking about me?" Mike asks.

"Mr. White doesn't have any sort of code," Jesse says.

"You think you know me," Mike says calmly. "You think you've got me figured out. Am I hearing this right?"

"You're not so hard to puzzle out as you'd like to think," Jesse sneers.

"You don't know a thing about me, kid," Mike snarls. "Hey. Look at me when I'm talking to you." Jesse glances over at him, his resentful expression making him look petulant, and even younger than he is.

"If Gus asked me to kill you, I'd tell him it was a bad idea," Mike says. "And he'd listen to me."

"And what if one day you don't think it's such a bad idea anymore?" Jesse asks softly.

God but this kid is broken. Mike closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He's done his homework, so he knows Jesse didn't come from a bad home. Should have had every advantage, this kid, and it isn't like he isn't smart. He supposes sometimes it doesn't take much—anything could have started him down the road Jesse was on.

It was probably no one's fault, but Mike can't help but blame the parents. He doesn't have any patience for parents that give up on their kids, and for them to have given up this easily they couldn't have ever been all that present in the first place.

It's obviously left the kid with abandonment issues that run deep, and it's just as obvious that Walt has used them to get his loyalty.

Mike wants to reassure him, to tell him that's never going to happen, that things will turn out, but Jesse's not a child no matter how much he sometimes seems to be. Mike's not going to play on his insecurities or offer false platitudes the way so many others have.

"If that happens," Mike says, instead, stepping close, "if I ever come for you, then you kill me first. That's what if. You kill me first, kid. You got it?"

Jesse's eyes look like pools as he blinks back at him, filled to the brim with tears even if he refuses to let them fall. "I never wanted to kill anyone," he says. "How could you think I could kill you?"

"Because you're a survivor, whether you mean to be or not," Mike says. "And because I'm giving you permission, right now. Whatever happens, whatever changes, you survive this. You understand me?"

"I'll promise if you will," Jesse says.

"Me?" Mike laughs. "I'm an old man, Jesse."

"No, you promise, or you can forgot this," Jesse snaps. "Someday, when Mr. White finally has enough money, when Gus wants to move onto greener pastures, we get out. The both of us. We retire, clean and clear. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

Mike's never expected this to end well for him, but if a pact is the only way to get Jesse to start looking after himself, he supposes it doesn't cost him much.

"Deal," he says, and he fully to make sure Jesse keeps his end of the bargain.

Even if he has a feeling he won't manage to keep his.


	4. Chapter 4

Mike doesn't at all belong here, but no one gives him a second glance. This is, he guesses, only partly due to the fact that most of the people here are drugged out of their minds. Because this isn't quite as bad as the last crack house he'd helped drag Jesse out of it. This one has a shiny veneer—glass coffee tables, the better to snort coke with, shag carpets, the better to fuck on, and thick dark black out shades…the better to keep out the neighbors.

No, this is less like that crack house and more like Jesse's house once upon a time.

Except the prick that owns this place isn't a thing like Jesse Pinkman.

Mike had him checked out when he'd finally tracked Jesse down, and there wasn't much good about Curtis Evans. There were any number of charges against him on record, but aside from slinging heroin, his favorite pastime appeared to be sexual assault—mostly of boys half his age, which was just a little younger than Jesse.

And from what Mike can tell, Jesse's been here the last three days.

It wouldn't have taken him this long to find the kid except Walt had demanded the lab be shut down for a few days and decontaminated—some bullshit about a cockroach spotting. Jesse had brushed off his inquires and said something about going to see Andrea and Brock with the unexpected downtime.

Mike figured he owed him a bit of space after their last confrontation, and that was his first mistake. Two days later and he finds out Jesse never went to Andrea.

Three days later and he finds himself here.

He carefully makes his way towards the stairs, stepping over and around the passed out bodies littering the floor like so much garbage. He doesn't bother asking anyone here where he can find Jesse, he doubts any of them would be coherent enough to answer even were they inclined to help.

Anyway, Mike has a pretty good idea where to find him. He knows that Jesse is exactly Curtis's type—maybe a bit older, but then Jesse doesn't look it. He heads up the staircase and down the hall, straight for the master bedroom.

He pushes open the door quietly, and neither of the two on the bed notice him. Jesse is beneath Curtis, obviously out of his head on heroin. Mike fights down a flash of anger, because as much as he'd like to slice Curtis open at the neck, he didn't get this far in life by doing every single thing he'd like.

No, he got this far by being careful, and coming prepared. He slips up behind Curtis and puts him in a chokehold, before grabbing the prepped syringe he'd stuck in his back pocket and slamming straight into the vein in the crease of Curtis's elbow. Curtis barely has time to let out a choked protest before the heroin hits him, and Mike releases him and lets him drop down onto the bed.

Jesse scrambles away, coming out of the drug haze a bit with the shock. "What did you do?" he asks.

Mike glances dispassionately at where Curtis is choking on his own vomit. "Putting that heroin I took off you to good use," he says, and Curtis goes still. He's still breathing, but Mike knows it won't be for long.

"Oh god, you've killed him," Jesse whispers, pushing back up to his knees. He's got pants on, which Mike is grateful for, but the top bottom is undone and his shirt is gone. He reaches out to Curtis like he's going to start CPR or something, and Mike grabs him around the waist and pulls him away, spinning him towards the chair in the corner of the room.

"Get dressed," he demands.

"Mike, you can't just—" Jesse breaks off, his breath hitching like he's going to hyperventilate. Sometimes Mike forgets that Jesse never seems to get used to this.

"You want to try looking me in the eye and telling me you're clean enough to have consented to this?" he demands, angrily pointing back at Curtis. "You really think I'd take the chance he'd touch you again? Sell to you again?"

"Mike—" Jesse starts.

Mike ignores him, spotting one of Jesse's hoodies by its garish colors and indecipherable design. He grabs it up off the floor and turns back towards Jesse. "Put this on."

He grabs one of Jesse's arms, narrowing his eyes at the recent track marks, and then shoves the sleeve on. He doesn't give Jesse a chance to pull away before he turns him around and pushes his other arm through the sleeve. He checks behind him to make sure none of Curtis's guys have made a move, and then zips up Jesse's hoodie.

Mike wants to yell at him but this isn't the time or place. "Come on," he says. "We're leaving."

He grabs Jesse by the arm to pull him along but the kid stumbles. Mike grits his teeth, because it's obvious he's spent most of his time here passed out in Curtis's bed. He wishes he could kill the bastard again.

"Did you tell Mr. White?" Jesse asks quietly.

Mike tightens his grip as they start down the stairs, ushering Jesse in front of him. "No," he says. "You want me to?"

Jesse shakes his head, looking nauseous. Mike narrows his eyes and shoves him more quickly down the stairs. Somehow in this fucked up scenario Mike's become the good parent, while Walt is the scary parent. Mike wants to set Jesse straight about that but he's not entirely sure it isn't true.

He keeps an eye on everything, but no one notices them leave. Half-conscious junkies were the only kind of witnesses Mike liked to have.

He puts Jesse in the passenger seat of his untraceable rental and straps him in, before moving around to drop into the driver's seat. He takes a breath and then glances over at Jesse.

"You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?" he asks, as calm as he can manage.

"I wanted it to stop," Jesse says. "That's all. For a little while."

"Wanted what to stop, Jesse?" he asks.

"Everything," he says, his words catching on the air as he blinks over at Mike. His pupils are still dilated, his eyes watery but startlingly clear.

Mike clenches his jaw and starts the car. There aren't that many safe places he can take Jesse. He knows better than to take him home, or leave him alone for a second. There's always rehab, and he knows he could get Gus behind it. Walt too.

Walter, he thinks angrily. Walter might actually be able to talk some sense into the kid—but at what cost?

So Mike just starts driving, and somehow, he ends up taking the kid home with him.


	5. Chapter 5

Jesse has the quietest withdrawal that Mike's ever seen.

There's two kinds of junkies as far as he can tell—physical dependence, or mental dependence. Jesse's not hardwired to be a junkie, he's got to work at it. He has to consciously make that decision to drag himself under again and again every single time.

As trite as the saying 'I could stop if I really wanted to' tends to be, Mike thinks it actually describes Jesse's situation quite well.

Aside from a few attempts to throw up his lungs the first night, the kid's mostly just been sleeping it off. Mike keeps watch over him, wiping him down as he sweats the toxins out. Jesse hasn't shaved his head in the last few weeks and it's sticking up a bit, making him look too goddamned young.

"Why are you doing this?" Jesse had asked him once, in one of his more lucid moments.

It made Mike wonder how many times Jesse has put himself through this alone.

Mike never answers him, because he figures the kid wouldn't remember anyway—and he might never understand.

He makes the necessary arrangements with Gus, and Gus tells him to take all the time he needs. It's not like Gus to be that understanding, but Mike knows he's got plans for the kid. He wants him in one piece, and fucking with Walter by making him cook alone is probably just the icing on the cake.

Walter, Mike thinks, and sighs.

His phone has been ringing on the hour just about every hour since Jesse hadn't shown up to the lab on Monday. It's Wednesday now, but Gus has told him not to call Walt back. Jesse's sick today, is all Tyrus has been cleared to say.

Mike would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying Walter's panic just a bit, but he knows they're playing a dangerous game by trying to leave that particular man in the dark.

Still, everything goes almost disconcertedly well. Which is why Mike's not surprised when his daughter-in-law Allison shows up at his door with Kaylee later that day, and begs him to watch her because her sister is in the hospital. Her sister lives in Santa Fe, and she doesn't want Kaylee spending the next few days either in a car or a hospital.

If it had been anyone else asleep one room over, Mike would have told her no. He sure as hell wouldn't trust Walt within fifty feet of this little girl, never mind that he was a parent himself.

But he knows he can trust Jesse with her. Jesse, who had been willing to die to avenge some kid he didn't even know—some eleven year old that had killed his friend, none the less.

Despite Jesse's twisted relationship with 'Mr. White,' he knows that Jesse wouldn't ever tell Walter about this, either. Even if Walt got him spun around again, turned against Mike, Jesse would never use a kid against him or provide Walt with the leverage to do it for him.

Thought about like that, Mike supposes he trusts Jesse more than anyone else in this world—because there's nothing more important to him than Kaylee.

Allison is gone the moment he agrees, leaving in a panic to get to her sister. Kaylee just pushes past him with the casual indifference of those under the age of eight, barely tossing him a hurried 'hi, grandpa' before she's skidding into her room.

Mike quickly shuts the door, before rushing after her. He hopes Jesse hasn't woken up.

He finds her standing at the foot of the bed, looking at Jesse with wide eyes. He's still dead asleep, and the cold sweats finally seemed to have stopped. With his spiky hair jutting out just above Kaylee's pink frilly comforter and his features relaxed in sleep, he's thankful to see that the kid looks far more like he belongs in this part of Mike's world than the one he usually keeps hidden from Kaylee.

"There's someone in my bed," Kaylee tells him, in childish accusation.

Mike nods. "It's a friend of mine," he explains. "He's been very sick. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, I guess not," Kaylee says, uncertainly. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's been really sad," Mike explains.

Kaylee goes very still. "Like daddy?" she asks quietly.

Mike mentally curses himself for leading her to thoughts of his son. iHe'd been very very sad,/i they had all told her at the time. Like it was the sadness that killed him and not the pistol he'd placed beneath his chin.

Daniel hadn't been able to handle Iraq. He'd come back broken, and damned if it had taken Kaylee pointing it out for Mike to realize the similarities between Jesse and his son.

"No, this isn't the same," he assures her, even if he's not certain of that. "Jesse is doing much better."

"I did always want an older brother," Kaylee says after a moment. "Megan has one and he drives her around, sometimes."

"He's more like a young uncle," Mike corrects. Even if, god, Daniel would have been forty-two this year, and Jesse really is young enough to be his fucking grandkid. Mike still doesn't have to admit it.

"He can stay," Kaylee decides, and glances up at him for approval.

"Yeah," Mike agrees gruffly. "He can stay."


End file.
